New land is forming at the mouths of the Wax Lake Outlet and the Atchafalaya River. This is a noteworthy exception. Put another way, the delta has shrunk as if most of Delaware has dropped into the sea. I lean back on the table to watch the ultrasound become its own false-color satellite. My healthy 6 follicles look like vacant pools, spread across land. Pitch black hollow wells and I think of Louisiana; the vanishing coastline, the satellite maps of canals and spoil levees creating a checkerboard of what’s left. My follicles, however, form great possibilities. The companies of oil and gas were warned. Like the warning of being 39 and pregnant. Too late. And I questioned, what is there to know about nature while living on the edge? What would a space of absolution look like? Feel like? When I lived in Baton Rouge two young women jumped off the bridge into the Mississippi River. There, I said it. And now you know I think of them often. Such stories of absence. Each of them, on separate occasions, were found downriver, but one of them, 40 miles away at mile point 137. A fact too specific to forget. Maybe, they knew their leaving was the only way to love the water, to become like the river, a creature of memory, themselves on the edge. The way I find faith in my birthing new life on the edge of 40. There is new land forming along a distributary of The Mississippi River along a disappearing coastline. The River has always been a baptismal escape route, opening its deep and dark mouth waiting for the join. The River, and its never-ending story.